


A Promise, Fulfilled

by rei_c



Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [17]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cooking, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Difficult Decisions, First Meetings, Gen, Human Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Promises, Sky Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 02:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18714337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Stiles told Verde that Lydia Martin would be his. After Stiles meets with a dozen Vongola and Varia, Lydia shows up on his doorstep with questions to ask -- and Verde comes calling soon after.





	A Promise, Fulfilled

Stiles leaves his dad at the station and gets back in his Jeep. He sends a few texts, drives home, and Peter opens the front door just as Stiles is getting ready to turn the knob. Stiles raises one eyebrow, Peter raises both, and Stiles huffs but can't help the grin even as he leans over and rubs his cheek against Peter's. 

"How's your father?" Peter asks, closing the door behind Stiles. 

"He's good," Stiles says. There's an itch of guilt between his shoulder blades at how pleased his dad was to have him home again, one that Stiles ignores. He's had a lot of experience ignoring that particular strand of guilt the past couple months. "How've things been here?" 

Peter rolls his eyes. "You told everyone who wanted to run errands for you to come here," he says. "That's pretty much anyone trying to get in the Vongola Decimo's good graces. Hebe gave up five minutes after they all arrived and abandoned me in favour of a nap." 

Stiles winces, leans to look around Peter but can't see anyone else. He figures they're all in the living room and he lets his flame out to fill the house, counts the heartbeats and takes note of which ones react to his overture and which ones don't. "Sorry," he says, though they both know he's lying. "Think you can handle them a little longer? I'd like to go take a quick shower and change." 

His dad had given Stiles' clothes a look but hadn't said anything about the discreetly expensive button-down, the jeans that are a little tighter than his normal, the monstrosity of a watch on his left wrist. Stiles has gotten used to wearing clothes like this but he wants pyjamas now, sweats and a too-big t-shirt, wants to take off his shoes and socks and wash the gel out of his hair. 

Peter's in the middle of agreeing when Stiles' phone buzzes. He narrows his eyes, hadn't been expecting such a quick response to any of the texts he sent out, but he reads the one that just came in and makes a thoughtful noise. "On second thought," he says, sending a quick response and then one more text to someone else before looking up again, turning his gaze towards the living room, "I might put that shower on hold." 

"Lydia?" Peter guesses. Stiles wouldn't stay in his Vongola clothes for Scott or his father or any of the pack; the only one who might notice the brand of his shirt or jeans would be Lydia and she'd be the only one they'd impress, too. Stiles nods and Peter purses his lips. 

Stiles moves past his mist, runs a hand down Peter's arm as he sidles by, heading for the people in the living room. He stops, when he gets there, and looks over the dozen or so people crammed into his living room, all of whom are looking back at him. Stiles hands his phone to the nearest person, and says, "Anyone Vongola who's here to run errands, put your name and number in the phone. If you're a Varia trainer, add yours. Bodyguards, set up a group chat. I need a couple people to run to the grocery store, someone to go get Verde, I need someone to check my mailbox, and someone to go to the library. Who brought my backpack home?" 

"I did, Vongola," one of the women in the room says. She's sitting on the far edge of the couch though she stands up after she's reached down to the side of the couch, picked up his backpack. She brings it to him and Stiles takes out his old wallet from the front zipper pocket -- Hebe bought him a new one on their last trip to the market, but Stiles never moved over his old loyalty cards, punch cards, notes. He takes out his library card, holds it up, and the woman offers her palm. "I'm latent," she says, "so I've spent more time in libraries than on the training grounds. What did you need from the library?" 

"Mrs. Pearson should have a stack of things ready for me," Stiles tells her, dropping the library card in her palm. "I emailed her a couple days ago. Tell her you're there for me, give her the card, she shouldn't have a problem letting you pick them up. Take a couple tote bags -- and be careful with the books." 

She inclines her head, says, "Always, Vongola," and leaves. 

"I'm willing to retrieve your lightning," another woman says, standing up. 

Stiles gives her a long, studying look, and finally says, "No. You can leave." She clenches her jaw, looks like she's about to refuse, and Stiles lets his eyes flare orange, lets his flame out to dance around his fingers as he strokes one of his X-Guns. She pales, and Stiles tells her, again, " _Leave_." 

This time, she does. 

He waits until she's gone, then turns to the closest person, a man pressed to the edge of the couch with how many people are crowded on it, and asks, "Who was that?" 

"Her name's Mariella," the man says. He sounds a little nervous, so Stiles pulls his flame back in and folds his arms across his chest, keeping his hands away from the guns. "She's a Varia storm. I think she was -- well, she came to try and court you." 

"Rejected," Stiles says. The implacable tone of his voice makes a few of the people in the room swallow hard. "Who are _you_?" 

The man stands up, nods his head, says, "Marcus. Varia cloud. Your cousin sent me in case anyone wanted ranged weapons training." 

Stiles narrows his eyes but nods. "Good," he says. "We'll be in touch. Hebe wants to learn the hunters' weapons and I'm inclined to make her happy." Marcus turns to leave and Stiles adds, "Tell Mariella to go back to Italy. I'll have no further need of her here." 

"Yes, Vongola," Marcus says, and quickly leaves. 

With three fewer people in the room, it's a little easier to breathe. Stiles takes his time studying each person as they pass around his phone. He waits until the phone's made it back to him before he asks, "Who here is Vongola staff? Not bodyguards, but household staff." Three people stand up, move to stand in front of Stiles, and he says, "I have a grocery list ready I can share with the two of you going to the store. Feel free to get more if you'd like, but I want everything on that list back here in two hours. Do any of you have a family account?" 

The three exchange looks and the woman in the middle says, "We all do, Vongola. If you'll share your list with me, I can go to the store along with Luca," and the man on her left raises his hand as if to say that he's Luca. "Giulia," she adds. "That's my name." 

"Giulia and Luca," Stiles says, as he scrolls through his phone's contact list, suddenly a dozen names longer. He sends them both his list, watches them leave, sliding past Peter, who's come to watch, then turns to the other man still in front of him. "Unfortunately," he tells the man, wry grin on his face, "that leaves you to go get my lightning." 

"Better a Vongola servant than a Varia," the man says. Stiles tilts his head, intrigued that the man followed Stiles thought-pattern and halfway impressed that he stated it so bluntly. "My name's Alessandro. Your family saved my life. It's no exaggeration to say that I live at the famiglia's pleasure."

Stiles hums, asks, "You're happy with that?" 

Alessandro shrugs one shoulder and manages to make the movement look elegant. There's more to his story, Stiles knows, and he's suspicious enough now to want to hear it, but that can wait. He needs to get everyone out of his house before Lydia gets here. 

Reaching into his backpack again, Stiles takes out a mailbox key and hands it over. "The post office downtown, box 2519. There shouldn't be much. Please stop by on your way to pick up Verde, then bring him and the mail back here." 

"Your will, Vongola," Alessandro says, even bows a little, and when he walks past Peter, he inclines his head and tilts it to the side. Stiles looks at Peter, pushes his mixed feelings down their bonds and gets Peter's in response. The two hold each other's gaze a moment or two longer, then Stiles turns his attention to the others still in his living room. 

"Thank you for coming," he tells them. "I'll be in touch."

One or two of them murmur, a couple others sigh, but they all wind their way out of the house soon enough. When it's just Stiles and Peter, Peter says, "You didn't even check to see if the fridge was stocked." 

Stiles chuckles, moves so that he's next to Peter, able to lean against Peter and let Peter hold him up. "We'll go through it, no matter what," he says. "Hebe's almost a teenager, I _am_ a teenager, and you're a 'wolf, not to mention all the others we'll no doubt be hosting for meals. How hungry are you? I can get started on lunch before Lydia gets here and Alessandro comes back with Verde." 

"Hungry enough," Peter says, as Stiles stands up, moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge. "How do you feel about Alessandro?" 

"Annoyed," comes the instant response. "He wants something, I think. Something other than being chosen as a guardian. He's clever; that makes me wary," Stiles adds as he opens the freezer, hums and takes out two packages of chicken thighs, drops them on the counter and reaches into the fridge for tomatoes and parmesan and minced garlic. He moves to the cabinets, then, and pulls out a few different spices, some olive oil. "What do you think of him?" 

Peter slinks into the kitchen, leans forward on the counter. Stiles can feel Peter's eyes on him but he finds it -- comforting. Their bonds hum contentedly, wide open between them, and Stiles thinks -- sometimes he thinks, anyway -- that the Hales were all idiots to push Peter away when they could've earned his loyalty and, along with it, his life. 

"I think you should send him away," Peter says, "like you did with Mariella. And you should probably send Marcus as well; he's too unsteady." 

Stiles puts the chicken in the microwave to defrost, then turns on the oven on his way to grab their cast-iron skillet, a cutting board, and paring knife. Oven-baked chicken and tomatoes is an easy recipe, one he's made countless numbers of times, so he's mostly on autopilot as he considers Peter's suggestion. He drizzles olive oil in the pan and scatters some garlic on top, then starts chopping tomatoes in half. "Marcus, yes," he agrees, "so long as someone else is here to train Hebe. She's gonna eat him alive. And Alessandro -- I'm not sure. I don't like him. I don't trust him. But sometimes that makes me want to keep people closer, rather than give them space. If he's here, we can keep an eye on him. If he's in Italy, we'll have to set someone we trust to keep a discreet watch over what he's doing, which he might be more likely to notice." 

Peter makes a thoughtful noise and their flame bond shivers with his concentration. Stiles dumps the tomatoes in the skillet, sets the cutting board and knife in the sink, and turns to look at Peter, waiting. 

"He bared his throat to me," Peter says, picking his words carefully. "Which means that he knows what I am -- granted, most of your family does. But it also means he knows how to act around me and, more importantly, _chooses_ to act as such." Stiles keeps enough of a flame in his eyes and ears and nose to push his senses closer to a 'wolf's than a human's, but that doesn't always mean he knows what he's seeing and hearing and smelling. He asks Peter what kind of scent Alessandro had, and Peter says, "Not much of one, actually. Contact scents -- pollen, your house, detergent, a little cologne -- but not -- it's strange." 

The microwave beeps but Stiles keeps his eyes on Peter as he asks, "You think he's a hunter?" 

Peter's eyes flash blue. "If he is, he's been implanted in the Vongola for years." He pauses, then, very cautiously, asks in return, "How are your negotiations with the Cìnniri going?" 

Stiles' instant reaction is to tell Peter it's none of his business, but Peter is _his_ and Stiles -- as much as Stiles trusts Peter thanks to their bonds, he could sometimes do a little more to _show_ the depth of his trust. So, instead, he gives Peter a narrow-eyed look but does answer. "We'll be ready to sign an alliance the next time we're in Italy," he says, and can't help laughing at Peter's show of naked surprise. "I originally went into negotiations hoping for a truce at the most, but the Cìnniri heads are -- well. To say that they're much more intelligent than the Argents wouldn't actually say much at all, considering how stupid some of the Argents were, but they're very clever. They're also very thankful that we snatched up their wayward heir and bound her to a position of leadership. They aren't necessarily happy she's not going to be running their family someday, but they're relieved she's off the streets and know that the Vongola will do whatever it takes to keep her as happy and safe and lethal as possible." 

"That you will, you mean," Peter says. Stiles shrugs. He turns to take the chicken out of the microwave, checks to make sure it's defrosted enough, and arranges the thighs in the skillet, scatters some herbs, parmesan, and salt over the top, then shoves the dish in the oven. "She's not going to be happy you're entering into an alliance with the same family she ran away from," Peter warns. "She left for a reason; you can't forget that." 

"I haven't," Stiles says, sharp. "The Cìnniri and I are discussing it. But it makes sense for us to have a hunter alliance and the Cìnniri are on the ascendant in Europe with the Argents going extinct. Hebe's going to have to deal with it." 

Peter sighs, but says, "She will, for your sake," in a clear sign that even though he doesn't like the idea of an alliance, he'll deal with it as well. 

A moment later, Stiles hears both movement from upstairs and a car turning onto his street. He checks his bonds, realises that Hebe probably picked up something from him, enough to wake her up, and he sends a wave of soothing affection to her at the same time he heads for the front door. 

Sure enough, by the time he's opened the door and is standing in the doorway, Lydia's pulling into the driveway behind Stiles' Jeep. He doesn't go to help her out, choosing instead to wait, and Lydia takes her time getting out of the car, walking up to the door, studying Stiles carefully. She takes in his longer hair, his tan, the way his mouth is smiling but his eyes aren't, and then her gaze drags down Stiles' body, scans his clothes, his watch. 

"Well," she says, voice arch and haughty, and yet somehow the familiarity of it sends a pang through Stiles. Not that long ago, he was -- maybe in love, maybe not, but definitely obsessed with this girl. He's already hardened his heart to the necessity of giving her to Verde but something in him still _wants_. "It appears that _someone_ had a good vacation. How'd you afford those, Stiles? And why the sudden change?" 

Stiles gives her a grin that doesn't reach his eyes, more of an excuse to bare his teeth than really smile, and he thinks that maybe it's a good thing he's been forced out of his crush because the rose-tinted glasses he always used to wear around Lydia did a really good job of covering up how much of a _bitch_ she can be. 

"I did have a good summer, thanks for asking," Stiles says. "How was yours?" 

"My boyfriend left right after my best friend died in a house fire," Lydia replies. "How do you think it was?" 

Stiles bites back the urge to laugh but he hears a chuckle from deeper inside the house, followed by whispering -- no doubt Hebe demanding Peter explain the sudden amusement they can feel flooding their bonds. He glances over his shoulder but doesn't see either of them. He debates warning Lydia but decides it'll be more fun not to, so he steps to the side and gestures, asks, "Would you like to come in?" 

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "Will I get answers?" she asks in return. 

With a shrug, Stiles says, "Sure," and Lydia swans past him. Her heels click on the floor, so it's easy to hear the rhythm slip when she lays eyes on -- Hebe, Stiles sees, when he's closed the door and caught up to Lydia. "Hebe, this is Lydia. Lydia, this is Hebe. She's -- my charge, I suppose." 

"Ours," Peter says, emerging from the living room. Lydia's heart skips a beat, then starts racing. She even takes one step backwards, but bumps into Stiles, who doesn't let her retreat when it's so clear that she wants to. "Hello, Lydia," Peter says, purrs, really, as he stalks forward. "So good to see you again. Tell me, how much of our last meeting do you remember? If I recall, you were quite -- sweet." He flashes fangs, lets his eyes flare that unnaturally beautiful lupine blue, and Lydia's gulp is so loud that Stiles wonders if he'd even need flame-enhanced hearing to pick it up. 

"Peter," Stiles says, not in rebuke but in amusement. "Do behave, please. Lydia's our guest." 

Peter swallows down the half-shift, though he's still smiling to show off the gleam of his teeth. "I'll get drinks, then." Peter disappears into the kitchen and Lydia pushes past Hebe to go into the living room. 

For her part, Hebe just scowls at Lydia's back and tells Stiles, in Italian, "I don't like her. How did _you_ like her? She has all of Belphegor's attitude with no skill to back it up. I bet she faints at the sight of blood." 

"I fell in love with her when I was much younger," Stiles replies, also in Italian. "Younger than you, even. Love hides a multitude of faults -- or at least makes them easier to ignore." 

"I'm glad you decided to give her to Verde," Hebe says. "I'll be upstairs if you -- do you need me to do anything? Want me to stay?" 

Stiles shakes his head, runs his hand through Hebe's hair. "Peter will keep her off-balance enough and someone's picking up Verde right now. If you'd like to stay for the entertainment, you're more than welcome, but otherwise you can go upstairs and do whatever. You're not planning on another nap, though, are you? You'll never get your sleep cycle synced if you sleep all day today." 

Hebe rolls her eyes, says, "It's going to take me forever to get us all unpacked and organised, and that seems like a much more useful thing to be doing than dealing with _her_ ," as she gestures to the living room. "Can't you just knock her out or gag her or something?" 

"My bloodthirsty little sun," Stiles says, wrapping his arms around Hebe and tugging her into a tight hug. She squawks but doesn't try to fight the embrace, just hugs Stiles as tightly as she can. It makes his ribs creak, and he finally pushes her away -- gently. "Go on, then. See if you can't fuck with some of Peter's clothes." 

"I heard that!" Peter calls out from the kitchen. 

Hebe and Stiles both laugh, then Hebe goes upstairs and Stiles walks into the living room. He sits down on the couch, across from where Lydia's perched on the edge of his dad's armchair, leans back and makes himself comfortable. He knows that he looks sure of himself, even arrogant, the way Jackson used to strut around the place, but Stiles also knows he's way more settled and self-aware than Jackson ever was -- and the difference should be clear to Lydia. 

"You said she's your charge," Lydia says. "Does that mean she's living here with you?" 

"Her and Peter both," Stiles says. "It's going to make the house a little more crowded than my dad or I are used to, but," and he shrugs as if to say, ' _what can you do_?' 

Lydia frowns, asks, "Your father's okay with that?

Stiles' lips curl up on one side. "He wouldn't have reorganised the rooms this summer while I was gone if he wasn't, would he?" 

Lydia just looks at him, finally sighs and asks, "Will you tell me where you've been? I asked Scott but he didn't have a clue that you'd even left Beacon Hills, much less the country. I finally reached out to Derek; he said that you and Erica went to Italy." Her grin grows sharp and Stiles already knows he's going to pissed off by what she says next, waits for it and -- "He said you went with family. Were they so embarrassed by you that they turned you into their little dress-up doll?" -- yup, he's pissed off. 

Thankfully Peter comes in before Stiles lets loose -- he's not even sure right now if he'd use words to attack her or go straight to flames. Peter hands Stiles a cup of coffee, the good kind they brought back with them from Italy, a splash of cream and a hint of cinnamon in the first sip Stiles takes. Peter gives Lydia a glass of water, then sits down on the couch next to Stiles, his own cup of coffee in his hands. 

"Peter," Stiles says, chiding his mist. 

"You said she was a guest and I volunteered to get her a drink," Peter points out, "I never said what that drink would be or even at what temperature." 

Stiles glances at the glass in Lydia's hands, smiles when she sets it down on the side table next to her, gingerly, as if it might explode at any moment. 

"You seem to have some influence over him," Lydia says. "Aren't you going to make him get me something else?" 

"If I have any influence, I'll save it for something that matters," Stiles replies. He feels Peter move, just enough to press their legs together, sees that Lydia noticed the movement, and then feels the crackle of lightning coming closer, an impatient and hungry shattering of the stillness outside. Peter's smiling as he takes a sip of coffee and Stiles bends to set his cup down on the floor. 

A moment later, the doorbell rings. 

"Excuse me," Stiles murmurs, and leaves Lydia in the living room. He heads for the door, opens it a little too quickly, and lets his eyes feast on his lightning, smiling when he sees the disgruntled look Verde's wearing. "Verde," he says. "It's good to see you." 

"If I'd known my sky was going to drag me to this godforsaken hellmouth, I'd've refused to bond with you," Verde says. "I'd've killed you instead and done you a favour. Why are we here, Decimo? This place is insane and it's fucking with my experiments." 

Stiles laughs, can't help it. "I have a banshee in my living room," he says, and laughs again when Verde's eyes brighten. 

"Is it _my_ banshee?" Verde asks. 

"I'll introduce you," Stiles says. He ushers Verde inside, takes the stack of mail from Alessandro's hand and tells Alessandro, "Wait here." He closes the door on Alessandro's half-bow, letting it slam just a little. Something about Alessandro grates against his senses. 

By the time Stiles catches up to his lightning, Verde's already in the living room and standing a little too close to Lydia to be considered socially acceptable. She looks uncomfortable, eyes latching on to Stiles when he walks in and pleading for help. Stiles -- is not inclined to cater to her, not anymore. 

"Verde, this is Lydia Martin, a descendent of the banshee clan that settled in California about a hundred and fifty years ago. Her mother's unawakened but her grandmother was fully trained. Lydia herself was only bitten aware a year ago." Verde finally takes his eyes off of Lydia, looks at Stiles, and Stiles grins. "Peter, actually, which does tie her to the Hales and their territory. Of course, the alpha bond was broken when Peter was killed, but there's still a tinge of it left. He could probably find a way to enhance it if you wanted him to." 

Lydia, already confused, goes pale when she hears that. "Stiles?" she asks, not any louder than a whisper. "What --?"

Peter laughs; Stiles gestures at him over the shoulder to tell him to stop. "Lydia, this is Verde," Stiles says. "He's a scientist." Lydia gains back a little colour as she narrows her eyes. "He did some research on Beacon Hills before moving here and -- expressed interest in you. I offered to set up a meeting." 

"And he knows about 'wolves," she says, flatly. "And -- how did you know what I -- what do you mean about my grandmother?" 

"She's asks a lot of questions," Verde says. "Is she curious or stupid?" 

Lydia's lips part in outrage and she stands up, irate and ready to start verbally eviscerating people. Verde clucks his tongue and reaches out, pokes Lydia's arm with a crackle of green energy that shocks Lydia into unconsciousness, fainting backwards onto the armchair as the bottom edges of her hair give off a little steam. 

"She _is_ intelligent," Stiles says. "Her goal is to win the Fields Medal at least once and, honestly? I think she could do it. If you keep her alive, that is." 

"Depends on how loud she gets," Verde mutters. 

Peter leans forward, the couch creaking under his weight, and Stiles half-turns so that he can look at his mist as well as his lightning. Peter's got his serious face on, a thoughtful look that he moves between Stiles and Lydia, back and forth, over and over again. "We have a bond?" he asks. "Lydia and I, I mean. I can't feel it." 

Stiles tilts his head back and forth, says, "Better to call it a connection, more like a vampire-thrall connection than a sire bond. It's nothing you'd feel -- so stop trying to reach for it, Peter; that's annoying -- just something you'd be able to call on in magical rite. Her blood would be more potent for you, too, if you ever needed it, and I suppose you could maintain her as your life-anchor if you wanted." 

Peter makes a disgusted face. "Between flame bond and pack bond, I won't need her. And I'm glad I can't feel our -- connection. She's been an unmitigated harpy since she arrived." He leans back, then, and adds, "I'm with Hebe. I don't know how the hell she managed to capture your attention and keep it for so long." 

"Harpies can be very useful allies, once you've established their cooperation," Stiles points out. "And if she'd grown up a little better, she would've matured that innate viciousness into something a little less spoiled and a little more capable. But, like I told Hebe, my feelings for her kept me -- blind." It's a mistake Stiles swears never to make again; he doesn't have the luxury of it, anymore, and the Vongola, the Varia, his guardians, they all deserve better from him.

"Stiles," Peter says, softly, responding to something -- though Stiles doesn't know what -- in their bonds or his tone of voice or perhaps even the way he's glancing at Lydia, eyes fixed on the long line of her throat, the curve of her full lips, the spray of her eyelashes against her skin. He'd keep her if he could, he thinks, bite her and bind her and _make_ her become everything she has the potential to be, but he's promised her to Verde and the story of that will serve him and the famiglia better in the future than retracting his promise. 

"I think I might kill her," Verde says thoughtfully. "I'd like to find out what makes a banshee tick and how their voices work. Will anyone miss her?" 

Stiles meets Peter's gaze, bites his bottom lip as he considers the question. "Only in the sense that most of the high school will be relieved she's gone. Her parents are divorced; her father's not in the picture. Her grandmother's in an assisted living facility -- easy enough to get rid of without raising suspicions. Her mother, Natalie, might cause problems, but if a mist convinced her that Lydia, say, went to school in Europe to be closer to Jackson? People should believe that easily, and if she happens to stay over there for university --." Stiles stops there, shrugs.

Verde's grin goes a little sharp. "Excellent," he says. He looks at Stiles, then, asks, "One last chance to change your mind, sky? We've already bonded, after all, so if you renege on your promise, there's not much I can --" 

"I'm not going to change my mind," Stiles says. "She's yours, just like I told you, and you can do whatever you want with her." He glances at Lydia, knows a rueful expression's on his face, can't help it and wouldn't hide it from two of his bonded. "I've grown beyond her this summer, I think. But part of me will always love her. Part of me will always -- well." He takes a deep breath, shakes his head. "She would've been a weakness that I can't afford. Giving her to you solves that problem, keeps you happy, make me happy to see you happy. I'll get over it." 

Thankfully, neither Verde nor Peter argue with him or encourage him; they don't say anything. Peter merely crosses the room to pick Lydia up in a princess carry and then heads for the front door. 

Alessandro's still on the front step when Stiles beats Peter to the door and opens it. The man snaps to attention when he sees them, and Stiles looks past Alessandro to lay eyes on a Ford Expedition that doesn't look brand new and blends in well. Stiles raises an eyebrow, tells Alessandro, "Take Lydia and put her in the back," before turning to Verde and asking his lightning, "How long will she stay unconscious? You're more than welcome to join us for lunch if you'd like." 

The gleam in Verde's eyes is hungry but not for food. He's watching Alessandro take Lydia away and he looks eager to follow. "I'd rather take her back and get started," Verde says. "If that suits you, sky." 

"Of course," Stiles says. "Keep in touch, please? I'd like to know how your research is going and if there's any way I can help." 

Verde nods sharply, then heads for the SUV. Stiles and Peter stand there, shoulder to shoulder, as Alessandro sets Lydia in the backseat, as Verde jumps into the passenger seat, as Alessandro drives them away. 

"I still don't like him," Peter says. 

"I know," Stiles says. "We'll figure it out. We have time. Now come on; the chicken's probably done and I'd like to eat before the others come back with groceries. How does caponata sound for dinner?"

Peter backs away, holds the door open for Stiles, and says, "Sounds delicious, alpha." 

The oven timer goes off, then, as the two are walking back to the kitchen and, a moment later, Hebe comes thundering down the stairs, screaming her head off about food. Stiles has no time to mourn Lydia, not feeling Peter's pleasure at having his alpha provide for the pack and Hebe's excitement about her first Stiles-cooked meal, but, then again -- he's already grieved for her, for the image of her he'd built up over all these years, and started to move on. It's easier than he thinks to continue moving on, surrounded as he is by his pack, the taste of good food and better friends a heavier counterpoint to an imagined future that held no promise whatsoever. 

With the smell of garlic hanging in the air, with Peter's laugh and Hebe's excited chattering, with the tang of tomatoes lighting up his tastebuds and a glass of wine in his hand, Stiles thinks fondly of Lydia one last time, then puts his memories of her to one side and eats another bite of chicken.

**Author's Note:**

> The longest installment in this series! Hopefully you enjoyed it :)


End file.
